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Entry tags:
- abby,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- byerly rutyer,
- derrica,
- edgard,
- ellis,
- loki,
- loxley,
- marcus rowntree,
- petrana de cedoux,
- wysteria de foncé,
- { adrasteia },
- { allumin etsija },
- { emet-selch },
- { erik stevens },
- { gabranth },
- { james holden },
- { jone },
- { margaery tyrell },
- { sidony veranas },
- { tony stark }
OPEN | the grand tourney!
WHO: All Y'all.
WHAT: It's the Grand Tourney! Like a normal Tourney, but grand.
WHEN: August Now.
WHERE: Kirkwall.
NOTES: Sports... injuries?
WHAT: It's the Grand Tourney! Like a normal Tourney, but grand.
WHEN: August Now.
WHERE: Kirkwall.
NOTES: Sports... injuries?
Every thousand days, the Grand Tourney is organized in the Free Marches, and all the City States-- and even challengers from farther abroad-- come together to celebrate the freedom of the Marches. This year, the event was intended to take place in Tantervale.
When that, uh, fell apart, the tourney was hastily moved to the relative safety of Kirkwall.
Festivities begin early, with musicians and entertainers coming from all around to entertain lords and ladies as they set up tents. Food vendors complete the picnic atmosphere-- you may not be able to get a seat in the stands, but the hills around where the field where it all takes place makes the event easily viewed by all. Jesters, bards, troubadours, food vendors, all are happy to serve and make the event lively and lovely-- for a price.
The first event is the Joust. The announcer goes through everyone's names, their origins, the part they play, so the crowd knows who to root for and who to boo. Before the individual bouts begin, the jousters are expected to ride around the field collecting favors.
The second event is the Quintain. A similar setup to the Joust takes place, with announcements and cheering, gaining favors, etc. The major difference-- besides the content of the event itself-- is the hastily erected judge's stand, where they can view the skills of each comptetitor. Some scores are met with cheers, some with boos. Some competitors schmooze with the judges before their bout. It's all very classy.
In the intermission guests are invited to play a game of tug-of-war over two large piles of flowers and flower petals. As the loosers will discover, there's a pit of mud underneath the flowers. Hopefully you brought a second pair of clothes, or maybe you just don't care
If tug-of-war isn't your game, there's drunken archery. Darktown's very best (worst) booze has been generously donated (appropriated) for the event. One shot to begin, and more shots for every subsequent shot of your bow. Landing closer to bullseye garners more points, and prizes can be collected for high point scores. Nothing particularly valuable, it's more like carnival fare-- stuffed toys, shiny gems (they are colored glass), wood carved in various shapes (some lewd). The most expensive prize is a hangover cure potion (it does not work).
The final event is the ever-popular Melee, where several one-on-one matches take place simultaneously, until someone is either undefeated or the least defeated. As with previous events, each combatant is announced to the crowd and expected to walk around the stands, receiving favors. However, they're expected to do this between every match in the melee, as their popularity rises... or falls.
During all of this, the ever-noble Pas d'Armes event is taking place. If you wander away from the event at any time, Gabranth will be there, at a nearby bridge, judging and / or fighting anyone who wishes to pass. Of course, if you wish to pass without issue, he will accept a favor from you. At the end, he'll be crowned with a white wreath of flowers, in a 'peace offering', and that is the sign that the tourney is done.
Not counting the partying into the night. No medieval camping trip is complete without waking up half clothed in a field, right?
THE JOUST
1st Place: Tony Stark, The Iron Man (Erroneously called 'The Man of Iron' at least once by an announcer. Several people in the stands asked if he was made of iron, why he was called that, what is he doing, why.)
2nd Place: Weary Winona of Wycome (Never took off her helm, which was shaped like a woman's face and painted like she was crying.)
3rd Place: 'Sir Sullivan of Bonneville'(Who might just be Edgard in disguise, however legend has it he's actually an undead noble trying to reclaim his family's honor in the joust. This legend was started by Jone.)
Crowd Favorite: Ellis, The Bachelor (He was, at one point, mostly just a mass of favors, which may have been why he didn't rank. The crowd screamed his name repeatedly and at one point threw flowers at him while he was riding past.)
THE QUINTAIN
1st Place: Derrica, the Rivaini Raider (The chant 'carry me home' began during her bout, and continued whenever she walked near the field.)
2nd Place: Derek, Son of Derek, of the Ostwick Dereks (The 'carry me home' chant continued during his bout, as some confusion arose over whether Derrica was a distant relation of the Ostwick Dereks.)
3rd Place: Madame Noir of Hasmal (A ghostly pale woman wearing only a black gown during her match, there were rumors she'd bribed the judges with money or a low neckline.)
Crowd Favorite: Beth Greene, The Lady of the Green (Rumor has it that she was a wild woman who came from the forests just to compete. This rumor was also started by Jone.)
THE MELEE
1st Place: Pierre the Virtuous of Hambleton (On a particularly sunny day, some suspect he only won because the reflection from his bald head.)
2nd Place: 'The Dark Jaguar' (Who may be Erik Stevens in disguise. A nighttime assassin, he appears from nowhere during a fightusually with the aid of a conveniently placed piece of hanging black fabric but shhhh.)
3rd Place: Laura, Lady Nightshade (Rumor has it she threw her fight to get third place, but everybody who knows Laura knows she'd never do that... right?)
Crowd Favorite: 'The Acolyte' (A young man of roughly the same height and build as Benedict Artemaeus, the crowd really responded to how nervous, yet trying to be brave, he looked.)
Ser John 'the Anointed John' Pembroke of Tantervale
...who trained for this every day and is a professional Tourneyman, and whose win for Tantervale really lifted the spirit of the game to a high note, so how can we be bitter, really.
(Note to 1st placers in other events: this means he beat you in your event.)
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"Here, this is from Madame de Cedoux. I don't know what can be done with Enchanter Averesch's shirt," she says, turning back to draw that free next. "But he was so stubborn about giving me anything at all that I am obligated to integrate it somehow."
Spite is, as they say, an incredible motivator.
When the shirt is withdrawn, an oil slick dark snake flops out of the case with it.
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Crouching to retrieve the creature, Ellis spares a fond, "Hello, Thot," for what is presumably another iteration of Richard's companion. He can't imagine Wysteria to be handling another snake. It would be far too great a coincidence.
It does not occur to him that there's any particular purpose to Thot being here other than keeping Wysteria company.
To Wysteria, he directs, "Give me Averesch's shirt. I'll put it beneath my breastplate."
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"I suspect you will wish to save room under your breastplate for this."
Which is a pair of frilly ladies small clothes which Wysteria extracts with only the first finger on each hand, one through each leg hole.
"Though I suppose they would make a more specific point were they visible..."
She is not smiling. That would be absurd. This is very serious.
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"Wysteria."
Is a starting point, but Ellis has no idea where to go with it, and so closes his mouth rather than stammer further. Does he want to know whose undergarments those are? Surely not. Can he object to the point Wysteria is proposing? Certainly, but maybe he should be saving that objection for whatever else is in her case.
Thot's progress goes unnoticed, for the moment.
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"Suppose you were to run your lance through one of the legs and carry them along that way. They would only flutter a little, and your horse is sensible enough that I doubt it would think to shy from it. And you must make a point of explaining them to Mister Stark. I'm most confident that was Miss Smythe's intent."
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Well, Ellis probably would have done so before this particular moment.
But be that as it may, it looks as if he might as Wysteria holds the garment up more pointedly. The idea of this being a piece in some elaborate flirtation between Joselyn Smythe and Tony doesn't do anything to dissipate the embarrassment, but it does prompt Ellis to ask, "Have you more undergarments in there?"
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"No," she says, setting Joselyn Smythe's frilly smalls aside in favor of pawing through the rest of the case's contents. "The rest are largely ribbons and handkerchiefs and a very pretty sill cravat from the Ambassador, and—oh, Mister Holden passed along a dragon scale. I imagine it might be affixed to your horse's breastcollar. And Thought, of course. Mister Dickerson tried to send Ribbon along, but I refused to accept her. We don't know if she can be recreated if destroyed. But I told him I would convey the cleverness of the pun to you."
The 'Thought' in question has wound herself high enough to attempt to slither in under Ellis' pauldron.
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Having now the full scope of Wysteria's plans, Ellis takes a moment to consider the depth of her little case, and to lift one pauldron high enough for Thot to make her entry. A sign, perhaps, that Ellis' objections are to be minimal in this endeavor.
"What have you brought for me?" he asks, then clarifies, "Something of yours, not—"
Stalling over descriptor. The lacy underpants are unfortunately still the first thing that come to mind, and it does nothing to dispel the flush from Ellis' neck, though it's progress has been halted before it colored his face.
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She is reaching into the pocket of her skirt already, but dutifully waits to withdraw it again until he has done as directed. Minimal objections indeed.
The object which is deposited into his hand is cool and light and is followed by the distinctive slither of a delicate chain. When Ellis is permitted to open his eyes again ('There, it is done.'), he will find himself in possession of a fine gold chain. On the chain is a small silver ring set with a dark blue stone etched into the distinctive shape of a swooping bird. It is a very delicate little thing, appearing fit to be worn only on someone's smallest finger.
"The nug was melted down to use as part of the flexible conductor in my little project, but the chain was so light that it seemed a shame to do away with it. But I could hardly give you just a chain and I am wary of this being stolen again, having only barely gotten it back from the last scoundrel to do so, and so this seemed like the most natural combination. You will keep it safe for me, of course. It is one of the very few things which came to Thedas with me."
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He's making too much of it. Wysteria had used what was on hand. Ellis can rely on the sense that she had been entirely practical, and draw no further meaning from it.
Rather than parse the feeling any further, he closes his hand over chain and ring.
"I'm honored," is not exaggeration. Ellis of all people knows what it is to carry so little from home, and how they are made all the more precious for being so few.
There is a space afterwards, in which Ellis turns several things over in his mind, considers them and then, finally, tips his closed palm towards her.
"Do you think the chain will fit me?"
If not, there are other ways of carrying it. Not in the same pocket as the rock, for starters.
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"I suppose there is only one way to find out," she chirps, quite self-satisfied indeed as she fishes the chain from his open palm and undoes the clasp.
Wysteria passes one end of the fine little line about the back of his neck, keeping high about the edge of his gambeson and that ragged scar that marks the side of his throat. By her estimation, it is just long enough to hang the ring high below where his collarbones must be. On her, the nug had rested rather lower down—
"Though of course I realize now that no one at all will even see it. You should have one of my dress sleeves as well. We have only Mister Astarion's silk scarf to tie to your arm thus far, and it—the sleeve—might serve to balance out your appearance."
It is indeed very precious, that ring. Silver and blue and sentimental not because she had possessed any great love for the thing when she'd first acquired it (the opposite, really), but because in the intervening years it had become very particular and rare. With a soft snip, Wysteria hooks shut the chain's closure.
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He's smiling still, looking at her, before his hand drops from his collar and he gives her proposal due attention. The matter shifts his expression back to seriousness, or at least, some shade of seriousness.
It has become very clear that she does intend to put the entire contents of her case onto him, one way or another. Panties, cravats, scarves and all, that's what Ellis will be toting into the tiltyard with him. But even that doesn't quite dispel the warmth around his eyes as he weighs up the suggestion.
"Aye, but then you'd be lop-sided," he points out. Something he'd expect to be a serious vote against the sacrifice of a dress sleeve to the cause.
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Her hand immediately strays to the lacing at her shoulder connecting sleeve to bodice.
"Here. The yellow is not so garish against your blue."
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There is a beat of quiet. Ellis watches her intently as she loosens the lacing, some of the weight in his study lingering even as he offers up a smile to her when her attention returns to him.
"I like the yellow," he tells her, offering an arm to her, tapping his bicep with two fingers. "Tie it here. Just above the elbow, so you'll be able to see it from the stands."
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She isn't worried about spying him from a distance. Nonetheless, Wysteria does as directed. The dress's sleeve is slipped free, leaving her with only the pale cream of her shirt on the one side, and is succinctly bound there at Ellis' arm. The lacing is used to to secure the knot which leaves him with a fine gold banner to dredge around by the elbow.
And then, so long as she has him there, the silk scarf with its faint whiff of perfume from Astarion is fetched from the case and bound to his opposite arm.
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But that leading point as to the number of favors he's about to be decorated in draws his attention back to the overflow of her case, considering the items and how they might be affixed to him.
"Are we going to have to return all of this?" Ellis asks, reaching down to cautiously stir a hand through the contents. He is studiously ignoring the potential for garments, and the lacy frills of Joselyn Smythe's donation where it sits on the bench.
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"Although I doubt anyone will be too offended should you not elect to keep and cherish their miscellaneous tokens forever and ever. —Although there are a number of rather good ribbons in this collection. And also I would prefer you not to discard my ring once all the luck has run out of it, if you please. If you shouldn't like to keep it, I mean."
She is blabbering. She can hear herself.
"So no," she adds, quite firm. "No returns necessary."
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"I would like to keep it," he tells her, voice dipping enough that a shadow of some tender, quiet thing colors the words before a smile pulls at his mouth. "And you can have your pick of the ribbons, whatever survives after I've been knocked off my horse."
The padding afforded by Kostos' shirt will perhaps soften that blow when it comes. Ellis will make sure to tell her as much, so she can be pleased over it. (Kostos Averesch will most certainly be ambivalent, if he were informed.)
Assessing her handiwork thus far, turning one arm and then the other to assess the sleeve and scarf by turns, Ellis asks, "Will you have your second contribution back?"
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"I will be very uneven if I don't."
It is not a yes or a no, merely a statement as she attaches some further bit of frippery to his armor. He may do with her yellow sleeve as he pleases, though it is one of her good dresses and to be so unbalanced is fashionable only during a tournament. Though it's hardly as if she currently has any need to impress anyone.
"The ring has a minor enchantment on it. It's nothing at all dangerous or indeed even anything particularly useful, yet I suppose you ought to know it."
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"You're running out of buckles," he says mildly, before, "What sort of enchantment?"
Not that he expects to wear the ring on a finger. All that he does with his hands, all that violence, would risk damaging it, and Ellis has promised to keep her ring safe. It'll stay on it's chain, just where she put it.
But he needn't say that, so instead—
"Will it turn my hair a different color?" he asks, teasing. "Or is it going to give me a strange accent?"
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"No. Though if it were the first, I would keep it. I've always wanted very dark hair. All the most mysterious and compelling ladies do, you know. Or flaxen would be all right as well, I suppose. But no one at all can be attractively mystifying with yellow hair."
Imagine. Now Wysteria does scoff as she secures an oversized red ribbon to his person.
"No, it is a naming ring. It will tell you the names of everyone it's seen since last you wore it. It's very convenient for parties or any place where you are likely to meet enough people that you're unable to immediately recall who they are. But the person must be reflected in the stone. If your hand is in your pocket or if you keep it hidden here under your collar, it won't recognize anyone."
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But he's distracted from voicing the sentiment first by the ribbon, which he is redirected to a fastening at his hip and well out of his sightline, and then by the explanation, which is interesting even for a man who doesn't intend to use the item in question.
"Will you have it back for the next time you're obliged to attend some party?" Ellis asks. "You know I'm rarely dispatched for that kind of work."
His hands lift, armor creaking, while Ellis begins the process of working Kostos Averesch's shirt out of sight beneath his breastplate. It occurs to him he might have fit several items there, but with Wysteria having started her business, Ellis recognizes his opportunities to influence the outcome will be more or less limited now.
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Her? In silver and dark blue? Highly unlikely, save perhaps for certain ridiculous holiday occasions.
"No, I'm afraid that you will be obliged to keep it Mister Ellis. It is far too sentimental and secret a thing to give away, and far too incidental for me to keep. I am already saddled, you know, with a great many objects which I don't have the slightest idea what to do with thanks to the endless storage compartments of that dreadful old house. Which I don't say to reduce the value of the thing of course. The magic on it is quite rare and entirely foreign to Thedas, you know. Only to reassure you in your guardianship."
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Not rambling, no. But of diminishing, when she has done a kind thing.
Ellis hand lifts to close over hers, stilling her momentarily in the business of securing yet another item to his armor. Thot's wriggling presence has stilled, perhaps signaling that she has wound herself comfortably around his right shoulder.
"Thank you," he tells her, words weighted with fondness.
Not just for the ring. It's a simple sentiment, delivered with a tangle of some unspoken, formless thing behind it.
"For the ring," he clarifies, hemming the breadth of the thing in by degrees. "And all of this. I'll have more luck than I'll know what to do with in the joust now."
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"Well," she says, chin tipping up and her hands warm and still under his. "You're very welcome. I have complete confidence in you. And hopefully you will win your choice of partners at the festivities afterwards as well."
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